Melting Revisited
by SoConfusified
Summary: Title says it all. Reincarnated and reposted. AU in that Liir manages to escape the kitchen before Elphaba dies, and he's a blue-eyed boy. Hopefully this is an improvement on the orignal. Concrit. Appreciated. Rated T to be safe.


AN: I somehow managed to reincarnate this—I personally prefer the original, but the computer fairy stole it.

**This work is hereby disclaimed.**

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An instant of excruciating pain, like flames on her skin, and then...nothing, a blissful, blessed numbness, a welcome contrast to the agony in which she had lived. She was drenched with that which had been intended to save her from a fiery demise, yet now would destroy her.

_Water._

She no longer felt the pain of its burning, as she had all those years ago when she had finally allowed herself to weep, instead she felt weak, spent, as though it had doused the passion that had made her so formidable in her younger years, and sapped her strength away as it ran across the cold stone floor. She stood for a moment, shocked, and finally, crumpled.

She was dimly aware of Dorothy, now flitting about the room in a panic, now cowering in the shadows, spluttering apologies, calling for help, terrified shrieks echoing off the walls of Kiamo Ko, the place that had been both her home and her prison.

It would now be her tomb.

She felt rather than heard the hurried footsteps on the stairs, reverberating up from the lower floors, the heavy wooden door forced open with a crash.

"Liir, I- I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…her skirt caught fire and I-I..."

"Dorothy, go downstairs."

"I swear I didn't Liir, I- I didn't know…"

"_Now._"

The terrified farm-girl fled down the staircase, sobbing as she went.

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Liir watched her for a moment, now and again struggling to gather herself, to stand and face her new adversary, succeeding only for a moment or two before falling once again to the floor. She did not seem recognize him.

"Auntie?"

She had stopped trying to rise, he noticed, and simply lay there, shuddering.

He hesitated for a moment, and, not even sure why he was doing it, slowly crossed to her and knelt, gathering her thin, angular frame in his arms as best he could.

"Liir?" she rasped, her voice thin.

"It's me, Auntie."

"Tell her… tell the girl….I-I forgive her…"

"Auntie?" he questioned, confused.

"For Ne —my sister--tell her I forgive her…" she seemed stronger now, more determined, a glimpse of her former self.

"Get up, you old hag, and you can tell her yourself."

He struggled to lift her in her voluminous skirts, heavy with wetness and singed from the flames, in the end, he had no choice but to settle her on the floor again, defeated.

She laid there in silence for a while, still except for occasional twitch of her long, bony fingers.

"Liir," her quiet voice broke the stillness, the barest echo of a whisper.

He stopped, having made to rise a moment before.

"Look at me."

He would not.

"_Liir_."

He could not bring himself to do it, he could not bear that cold, calculating stare.

"_Please_, Liir." She was pleading with him now, her voice breaking with the effort to articulate what seemed to be such a simple desire.

She had never asked him for anything, he realized, not once. She had seemed to him above such things as the neediness of human emotion, cold and distant; content to seethe in her own bitterness until the end of time. She had never asked him for anything, and for a moment he was afraid, afraid to see what it was that had prompted such a change in her, afraid to see humanity reflected in her eyes.

Finally, when he could endure it no longer, he complied.

She held his gaze for a very long time, as her dark eyes met the sapphire blues of his own, he saw reflected in them the haunted look of a soul in torment. She was not looking at him, he knew—she had never looked at _him_ like _that—_where once there had been nothing but a blind fury he now saw in her a maelstrom of emotions; grief, loathing, hatred, guilt, and—_love_. Never before had he seen such a human emotion as love in those eyes. He was mesmerized, both unable and unwilling to look away.

After a moment she released him, eyelids fluttering.

"You're tired, Auntie Witch." Liir said, a hint of concern coloring his voice.

"No…mustn't sleep," she was murmuring, "no…_please_…" again with that pleading tone, he sat there, watching her battle for breath after agonizing breath, her voice a thin, pale shadow of what it had once been. She was _dying_, he knew that now, and here he was, powerless to stop it. The thought distressed him, somehow. He simply did not _understand_.

_So tired. _ Her thoughts came in disjointed fragments, _must… not…sleep… _already she could hear the roar of that vast expanse of water ringing in her ears; taste the salt on her tongue. To sleep was to die, to surrender to the nightmarish vision of destruction. An icy terror rose within her: she couldn't move, couldn't think… couldn't _breathe. _

_What does it matter? I'm dying anyway, I died long ago…all I've done…for nothing, all for nothing._

She thought of all that she had lost, of Glinda, with whom she would never now reconcile, of Nessarose, whom she had forsaken all those years ago, of Fiyero….

She could almost hear his voice, comforting her.

_Go to sleep, Elphie, it's alright…_

Her eyelids fluttered once more.

_That's it, Fabala-Elphie-Fae…sleep._

She sank willingly into oblivion.

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Liir sat beside her for a very long time, but she neither moved, nor spoke again.

Good? Better? Still crap? Feedback appreciated 


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